


All Alone to the Promised Land

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HTP Prompt: A younger up and coming Alexander Pierce figures out the truth about the Stark's accident and negotiates with the Russians for ownership of the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Alone to the Promised Land

**Author's Note:**

> I... trashed again. 
> 
> Thanks so much to [heeroluva](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva) for cheerleading, editing, and brainstorming with me :)
> 
> Title from Ministry's N.W.O., because I'm pretty sure Al Jourgensen would have written anti-Alexander Pierce songs if they'd lived in the same universe.

The undersecretary is blond and unreasonably handsome; he is pushy and demanding and so very _American_ , strolling around the main room of the repurposed launch pad as though he owns it.

Karpov detests him on sight.

“We were not quite done harvesting Stark’s potential, you see,” the undersecretary, Pierce, is saying, “and your impulsiveness has cost HYDRA one of its most valuable assets.”

His face is tan and weathered by the sun. Karpov imagines weekends spent at expensive ski resorts, summers at dusty ranches, while Karpov remains here at this seldom used outpost, blanketed by the unforgiving ice and snow.

“We would be happy to loan to you one of our engineers as reparation,” Karpov offers stiffly.

Pierce chuckles. “A second-rate scientist in exchange for the most brilliant weapons-maker of our time?” His smile curdles. “That's cute. Really. But I think you know what I'm here for.”

Karpov would like nothing more than to turn this American dog out into the tundra, barefoot and naked, or to set his rabid super-soldiers upon him (and yes, the fact that this particular gamble had failed so spectacularly is a constant thorn in his side.) If this irritating Pierce had shown up on his own, Karpov would delight in showing him exactly what the Winter Soldier was capable of, with an extended, first-hand lesson in torture and dismemberment.

Alas, the order had come from above. _Make nice with the Westerners, or else_.

HYDRA was supposed to transcend the borders of countries and the failings of individuals, but even an organization such as this was vulnerable to petty posturing and scrambles for power. One day, this Pierce would be on the wrong side of such a power struggle. One day, Pierce would get what was coming to him.

Today was not that day.

“You destroyed our most valuable asset, Colonel,” Pierce says. “And I'm here to collect yours.”

Karpov purses his lips. He is, as they say, between the rock and the hard place. He hesitates, the moment elongating, but in the end he has his orders. “Sokolov!” he finally snaps. “Bring out the soldier!”

His second nods and exits.

“Bring him to medical,” Pierce calls after Sokolov’s retreating form.

Karpov frowns.

“Can I offer you something while we wait?” Karpov asks with feigned sincerity.

Pierce smiles. “Borscht? Vodka? No, I don't think so.”

His condescension grates, but there is nothing for it. And so they wait in uncomfortable silence in a small examination room off of the main launch center while Sokolov fetches the soldier, who is thankfully still awake after the last attempted uprising from the new recruits.

“Ready to comply,” the soldier says when prompted as he's led into the room. Karpov has not needed to use the string of activation words since the soldier first was awakened some four months back, and he risks a quick glance to Karpov, who nods minutely in response.

“Soldier,” Karpov says. “Going forth this man will be your new commander. I expect you to obey his every order as you have mine, and to continue to serve us with loyalty.”

The soldier’s eyes widen just a fraction in surprise before his face settles back into its usual grim mask. It is probable that his memory does not stretch back to a time when he had any other handler besides Karpov.

It is probable that some days he does not even remember Karpov.

“Understood,” the soldier says.

“Hush, soldier,” Pierce says, skimming a finger across the soldier’s lips. His tone is deceptively mild.

The soldier stills, fixes his gaze to the middle distance somewhere over Pierce’s left shoulder, and awaits further instruction.

Karpov had a feeling the transfer would go this way. Pierce is exactly the type of man who would disrespect this HYDRA cell in this fashion while simultaneously reminding the soldier of his place.

So he is not unduly surprised when Pierce orders the soldier to strip.

Karpov’s mask of indifference is not as well-schooled as the soldier’s, but he fights to keep any emotion from his face as the soldier--who had only last week risked his life for Karpov’s during the uprising--begins to unbuckle the straps of his combat gear.

Karpov notes the faint tremor in the soldier's hand. He doubts the American detected it.

Pierce leans against the wall, watching as the soldier removes his vest. “You know, when I was nine I used to dress up like him. They made these costumes for kids. My older brother had a Gene Autry outfit and I had...his.”

Karpov clears his throat, wonders if he should tell this interloper that it is not a good idea to remind the soldier of his former life. Pierce probably doesn’t know about the time the soldier spent too long out of his cryonic state, before the code words had been perfected, when he disappeared on a mission and only resurfaced weeks later in New York.

But he remains silent as the soldier removes the rest of his clothing.

Pierce walks slowly around the soldier, taking him in. He tugs at his hair, pries open his lips, runs his hands down the soldier’s naked, mismatched arms like he's examining a horse at an auction.

“His teeth?” Pierce asks as he inspects the soldier’s mouth.

“Some were...lost during his initial indoctrination,” Karpov says. “State-of-the-art replacements were implanted into his gums.”

“I see.” Pierce runs his thumbs across the soldier’s lips, down his neck, across his collarbones, finally reaching his bare nipples, prickled to points in the cold of the examination room. He strokes down the soldier’s torso, thumbs sliding into the grooves of his hips, and the soldier tenses fractionally.

“So the Fist of HYDRA is ticklish?” Pierce asks, voice rich with amusement. He repeats the movement several times as the soldier fights for composure.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Karpov demurs. “The issue has never been raised before.”

“Yes, I'm sure,” Pierce says. “Soldier, onto the table.”

The soldier flicks his eyes to Karpov, and he knows it wouldn’t even take a word, just the slightest inclination of his head, and this Pierce would find his intestines spattered across the stone walls, and… and Karpov wants that. Wants to order the death of this man, for his own self-respect, and maybe even to preserve the last shred of dignity the soldier has retained since he’s been in Karpov’s trust these past several years.

Karpov’s not a naif; he knows the methods of persuasion--psychological, physical, sexual-- that twisted the American Hero into the Winter Soldier. Knows well how he’s had to call off and punish the ignorant, bored guards who treated the soldier as a mere plaything, theirs for sexual gratification. After all, what is the benefit of a damaged weapon that has been ill-used and poorly maintained?

But Karpov has never needed to rely on anything more than the electrostimulation to the brain--and the codewords that were passed down to him--to keep the soldier in line. And he was certainly never base enough to desire dominating the soldier in this manner.

He catches the soldier’s eye, knows it would only take one raised eyebrow...but. But Karpov has been loyal to HYDRA since he was only a boy, and he can’t find it in himself to break protocol now.

The soldier recognizes Karpov’s acquiescence, or perhaps his cowardice, and his eyelids shutter as he slides onto the table and lies down on his back.

“You’ve trained him well,” Pierce says as he approaches the soldier. “And yet, I assume this table is equipped with restraints?”

Karpov sighs. It has been a terribly long day, and his narrow cot in the officer’s quarters is growing more appealing by the moment.

“Here,” Karpov says, tapping the soldier so he raises his arms above his head, then pressing the button so the strong magnetic cuffs encircle the soldier’s wrists. “And also here.” A nudge to the soldier’s foot causes him to press his feet into his buttocks as a second pair of restraints affix the soldier’s ankles to the table, leaving the soldier spread and open for inspection.

He wants to tell Pierce that the restraints are hardly necessary any more as long as the soldier is properly conditioned and given reasonable objectives, but the gleam in Pierce’s eyes tells him there is little point in making this argument on the soldier’s behalf.

For better or worse (and Karpov suspects things will be much worse from now on), Pierce and his allies will control the Winter Soldier. Karpov must tamp down the spark of fondness he feels for the soldier who has given his life to HYDRA.

Pierce teases several more areas on the soldier’s body, cataloging the soldier’s discomfort. “My, you are ticklish, aren't you?” he murmurs, stroking a thumb under the soldier’s arm as the soldier tries to flinch away, his stomach muscles tightening under the feather-light touches. Karpov averts his eyes.

Pierce pulls a pair of surgical gloves from one pocket and begins a more thorough inspection of the soldier. He weighs the soldier’s testes, tuts over his lack of foreskin, and inserts one finger into the soldier’s anus as the soldier shifts uncomfortably.

It would be so easy to unclamp the restraint holding the metal arm in place; to give the soldier free reign to put down the American.

But Vasily Karpov is not so different from the Winter Soldier, and he knows when to obey a direct command.

Pierce has discovered the tube of lubricant that keeps the plates of the metal prosthesis operating smoothly, and is coating his gloved fingers liberally with it. His slow, steady tugs at the soldier’s cock are hypnotic. It goes on for long moments, until the soldier is hard and leaking, shifting his hips and breathing heavily. His face is turned away from them, pressed into the metal arm as though that would hide his shame.

Then Pierce moves his hand lower, circling one finger around the soldier’s hole.

“I…” Karpov clears his throat. “I see you are becoming well accommodated with the soldier, Mr. Pierce. Perhaps I will leave you to it.”

The soldier darts a look at him, and Karpov imagines he sees a flash of betrayal in those usually empty eyes as he begins to pull at his restraints in earnest, though they have been custom made especially for the soldier’s particular strengths and talents. His struggles to escape will be useless.

“Are you sure you won't stay and observe, Colonel?”

“I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to in preparation for the transfer of the asset.”

“As you please, Colonel,” Pierce says, apparently distracted by the slick fingers he is sliding into the soldier’s unwilling hole. “We’ll leave at dawn; I’ll expect a full briefing at that time on the asset’s capabilities and weaknesses.”

“Yes, of course. When you are finished here, Sokolov will show you to your quarters.”

But Pierce has stopped listening, is already unbuttoning his woolen trousers. Karpov has scarcely made it three meters down the corridor before he hears the soldier cry out in pain, hears the sharp smack of a palm against the soldier’s face.

He briefs a rather grey-faced Sokolov on the need to have one of the doctors clean up the soldier after the undersecretary is finished, and to tend to any wounds that might have been inflicted.

As he heads to his quarters, he wonders what a man such as Alexander Pierce would be capable of if given complete authority to unleash the full potential of HYDRA’s most powerful weapon upon the world at large. He stops off in the cold and empty kitchen to brew a pot of strong coffee before retiring to his room to spend the long night copying the contents of the star-emblazoned book into a new set of papers, an incomplete set of papers.

Karpov writes feverishly into the new dawn as the soldier's cries of pain echo throughout the cold stone corridors of the base.


End file.
